


Synchronous Orbits

by FlyingMachine



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Bad First Aid, Bathing/Washing, F/M, Making Out, Mantis Crew, Post-Canon, Romance, sleazy bars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMachine/pseuds/FlyingMachine
Summary: The Mantis crew travels the galaxy, and Cal and Merrin grow close.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Merrin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 222





	Synchronous Orbits

The first time Merrin kisses Cal isn’t a kiss at all, it’s mouth to mouth, and she is praying to the old gods that it works. 

His lips are blue and he’s so pale it scares her. She kneels on the deck next to him, two fingers on the pulse in his neck. She bends and puts her ear next to Cal’s mouth, hoping to feel his breath on her cheek. His chest is still. He is wounded; she can smell charred flesh and see the terrible burn through the hole in his jacket. Looking at it makes her stomach hurt. 

That is not important right now. 

She breathes for him, two slow and steady breaths. His chest rises and falls. His pulse is weak under her fingers, and his mouth is cold and slack under hers. 

“Please breathe,” she orders him. 

She gives him two more breaths. 

“Please, Cal Kestis.” 

Her magick is useless here. She can raise the dead but not restore them. She takes Cal’s cold, limp hand and strokes his wet hair back off of his forehead. She has wanted to touch his hair since she first saw him on Dathomir, but not like this. 

Two breaths.

In the space between the first and second breath, Cal coughs and chokes. Merrin’s heart lifts as he coughs up seawater, his ribs heaving under her hand. She lifts his head into her lap and smooths back his hair. 

He blinks at her, disoriented. His eyes are the hazy green of sea-glass. 

“Merrin?” His voice is a rough whisper. She notices for the first time the livid purple marks on his throat under his collar. Something about them makes her feel cold inside. 

“Just be still,” she says. 

“Okay,” he says obediently. He curls up a little on the deck, lifting his hand to the hole in his chest. She can see that he is hurting. His fingers are shaking badly. She wants to see to his wound, if he’ll let her.

“Do you think you can get up?” she asks. He gets his elbows under him and sits up slowly, wincing.

“Oh… ow,” he says softly, covering the wound with his hand. He squeezes his eyes shut against the pain, his mouth a tight line. Merrin wraps her arm around his waist and he sags against her. Without thinking, she presses a kiss to his temple. He doesn’t seem to notice. His hair smells like salt water.

She gets him on his feet and to his bunk, and when she lays him down he doesn’t move again. He closes his eyes and turns his head away, exhausted. She cuts open his jacket and shirt, revealing bare, freckled skin and the ugly burn. She covers it with a self-sealing bandage and hopes that is enough for now. 

Cal’s droid comes screaming through the doorway, chattering at her. She wishes she understood it the way Cal does, but she can only guess what it wants. She picks it up and sits it on the bunk next to Cal’s hip.

“Here,” she says. “Stay with him.” BD-1 warbles at her sadly. 

“He will be okay,” she says. She lays her hand on Cal’s chest and feels its steady rise and fall. She is surprised when his cold fingers brush hers. She thought he was asleep. She squeezes his hand, then lets go. 

She turns off the lights and lets him rest. 

Cal kisses Merrin in a sleazy cantina on Nar Shaddaa.

They are here to pick up a freight charter and drop it on some backwater moon Cal has never heard of. Cere is sitting in a corner booth, deep in conversation with a tough-looking Togruta smuggler. Cal and Merrin are here for backup should the need arise. The air is heavy with spice haze, and Cal has lost track of the amount of whiskey he’s drunk. 

He’s very drunk. Someone passes him a vaporizer pen and whatever’s in it goes down smooth, bright and herbal when he takes a deep drag of it. He hands it to Merrin and watches the smoke leave her lips and rise to the ceiling. He’s sure Cere won’t approve of their current state, but she _had_ told them to blend in and enjoy themselves. He hasn’t been this messed up since his last night out with Prauf on Bracca.

He takes a deep swallow of his drink and lets it ease the sudden ache under his breastbone. Everything feels good, especially Merrin leaning against his side. He has his arm around her and occasionally he slips his hand under the back of her shirt, dragging his fingertips over the bare skin of her back. She shifts closer every time he does it, and he’s enjoying exploring the contour of her spine while they wait for Cere to finish her deal. 

Merrin’s skin is warm and smooth under his fingertips, and Cal allows himself to imagine how good it would be to touch all of it with his hands, and with his mouth. She looks up at him with luminous amber eyes and Cal wants to kiss her.

It would be so easy to just lean down and do it, but not here. He glances over at Cere, still negotiating. She’s fine; her hand isn’t anywhere near her blaster and Cal knows exactly what she’s capable of should things go south. He takes Merrin’s hand and links their fingers.

“This way,” Cal says, feeling a thrill of electricity run through him. He leads her to the back room, so packed with people of all species that it’s hard to move. The band is great, and the music vibrates right through Cal in the best way. Glitter floats and sparkles in the air and the floor is covered with it. 

Merrin backs him up against the wall with a hand on his chest and Cal puts his hand on her hip, drawing her close. She has her hair down today, and the glitter caught in it sparkles in the low light. 

She leans close so he can hear her over the music. “What are we doing here?” 

“Keeping a low profile,” he says. Merrin takes the glass of whiskey from his hand and finishes it in one swallow. It’s rough stuff and she doesn’t even flinch. He wonders what the hell they’ve been drinking on Dathomir. 

She looks at him like she’s waiting for something and Cal hopes he hasn’t miscalculated this. The whiskey and spice have made him brave. He leans in and kisses her, and her mouth is warm and soft. She leans into him, her hair brushing his cheek. He reaches up and tucks it back, lets it slide through his fingers.

“You have glitter in your hair,” he says. Merrin reaches up and tousles his hair. Glitter falls between them. She grins at him.

“So do you.”

She wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him close to kiss him again. She licks his bottom lip, running her tongue along his scar. Cal opens his mouth when she slides her tongue into it. She kisses his neck and he tips his head back against the wall when she finds the tender spot by his jaw that makes him light up.

He slides a hand under the hem of her shirt, stroking up her side. He draws his fingers higher, his thumb brushing silk and one tightened nipple. Merrin sighs against his mouth and leans into his hand, and the way she strokes the nape of his neck sends little electric jolts right through him. He wishes he could see what he’s doing-- he wants to know if she has more tattoos, or any interesting scars. He imagines what it would be like to lay her down and let her touch him everywhere she wanted.

This is getting out of hand.

“Not here,” Merrin says in his ear.

“Yeah,” Cal agrees. “Definitely not here.” Not while he’s lost track of what planet they’re on. The corners of her eyes crease and she smiles at him. He’s thrilled that she’s happy. She takes his hand and leads him out to the front of the house, wading through glitter and writhing, barely-clothed dancers. He wants to keep her hand in his as long as possible. 

Cere is wrapping up business and when she catches Cal’s eye, Merrin lets go of his hand. Cal does his best to look sober. He feels flushed but thinks he’s doing well. 

He wonders if he and Merrin would both fit in his bunk, and thinks about that the whole way back to the _Mantis_.

Merrin is flying the _Mantis_ when the Empire finds them. The entire hold is full of stolen solar converters. They are destined for a mining moon where the Empire has diverted the existing power plants to its own projects, leaving the citizens to fend for themselves. A search and seizure of the ship will be an end for the _Mantis_ and her crew. 

Merrin did not survive the massacre of her people to die in the spice mines.

Cere’s scanners shriek proximity warnings and the belly of a star destroyer fills the entire viewport. Green turbolaser bolts streak past, and the whole ship shakes with impact.

“Dorsal control fin is hit,” Cere says.

“Merrin, I’m gonna take over,” Greez says to her. She doesn’t know how he’s so calm.

“You have control,” she replies as she switches main inputs to his control yoke. Greez is teaching her to fly, but she has no combat experience. Her hands are shaking badly and she clenches them on the control yoke.

More green bolts fly past and Greez’s evasive maneuvers pin Merrin to her seat and make her stomach flip. Greez says something in a language Merrin doesn’t know, but she understands the tone perfectly. BD-1 trills in alarm and jumps down from the console before he disappears behind her chair.

“It’s okay buddy,” Cal says from the jumpseat. He sounds shaky. She knows he doesn’t like ship to ship combat.

“I’ve got guns on them,” Cal says. “It won’t do much against their shields, but it should distract them.” 

“That’s good kid, lay down some cover for us so Cere can calculate a jump to hyperspace,” Greez says. “Merrin, get on the secondary guns and give him some backup.”

Merrin punches in the command to bring up the targeting computer and the reticle glows on her screen. She watches as a group of TIE fighters burst from a hangar bay. A storm of red bolts streak away from the _Mantis_ , clipping a couple of the TIEs and sending them spinning out. Her targeting computer beeps frantically and she thumbs the trigger, cursing in frustration when none of her shots hit.

“That’s great, keep ‘em busy,” Greez says.

Another bolt hits the _Mantis_ , and Merrin smells smoke. An alarm blares and her screen flashes _shield failure_. She can feel her heart pounding in her throat. She takes a deep breath and focuses on trying to hit the TIE fighters darting around them.

Greez slaps a button that kills the alarm, but Merrin can see the damage readouts filling up her screen with red warnings. 

Merrin’s targeting computer flashes green and she hits the trigger, this time anticipating the amount of time it will take for her shot to reach the target. The TIE fighter explodes and Merrin can’t think about anything except helping to get the _Mantis_ to safety. 

“Good shot,” Greez says out of the side of his mouth, his eyes never leaving the dogfight. “Cere, you got those coordinates?” Greez asks. Now Merrin can hear the strain.

“Right here, Captain,” Cere says. “Sending them to you now.”

“Everyone buckle up, this might be rough,” Greez says, and Merrin grips her own yoke, waiting for his orders. 

The _Mantis_ shudders and groans and then they are flying at lightspeed. The cockpit is silent except for their breathing. Merrin feels shaky as the adrenaline bleeds away. 

“Everyone okay?” Cere asks. Merrin nods.

“Someone get Cal a bucket,” Greez says. Merrin twists to look behind her. Cal is pale, his hands still clenched on his gun. 

“I’m okay,” he says. “You need me up here?”

“Nah, kid. We’ve got it from here. Go see if we’ve taken too much damage, will you?” Greez says kindly. Cal unbuckles his harness and disappears to the rear of the ship. Merrin is always surprised at how much Greez cares for Cal.

Greez stretches out his arms and folds two hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. He turns to look at Merrin, grinning.

“You’ve got control for the rest of the trip, Captain,” he says, and Merrin feels a flush of pride rising in her chest. She enjoys flying, and would like to be good at it. 

She lands them without incident on a dusty airstrip on a desert moon. Cal is out of the hatch as soon as she kills the engines, leaving BD-1 scrambling to catch up. Merrin gives Cere a curious look. Cere only shrugs.

“Come on,” she says. “Our contact is waiting.”

Merrin finds Cal on top of the _Mantis_. It’s late in the day; the repairs have taken most of the afternoon. She can only see his lower half- the rest of him is upside down in an electronics bay. A ladder with an open toolkit sits next to the _Mantis_ and she climbs up, walking carefully across the ship to where Cal is working.

BD-1 is perched on the edge of the hatch, shining a light into its innards. He beeps hello and Merrin pats him on the head.

“Do you need any help?” she asks, peering down into the open bay. Cal has wedged himself into the electronics, and he jumps at the sound of her voice. He extricates himself from the hatch and sits cross-legged against the _Mantis’_ fin. He has his jacket off and wears only a dark short-sleeved shirt. Merrin is fascinated by his bare arms and hands, and wonders if he has just as many freckles on the rest of his skin. 

“I think she’s fixed for now,” he says, combing his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. The late afternoon sun makes it shine deep auburn. Merrin looks at the new piece of hull Cal has welded in. 

“Today was a very close call,” she says. She sits down beside him.

“You were great,” he says, warm and reassuring. BD-1 beeps in agreement. 

“You did not seem like you were having a very good time,” she says, half-teasing. She remembers how pale Cal had looked after the engagement. 

“Does anyone have a good time in a dogfight?” he asks, with more edge in his tone than she had anticipated.

“Fighter pilots must, or they wouldn’t keep doing it,” she points out.

“Yeah, they’re either all spaced in the head or get off on the danger,” he replies. She frowns. He looks away, his mouth a tight line. “Sorry,” he says, and she doesn’t know why he’s apologizing. He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. He looks out over the dusty landing pad.

“When I survived the purge, I got away in an escape pod after our ship was destroyed,” he says, looking down at the scarred leather of his boots. He glances at her and she sees the pain of memory in his eyes. She knows he does not like to talk about what happened to him. “I just don’t like space combat all that much.”

BD-1 warbles sadly. Merrin does not know if droids experience empathy, or if BD-1 echoes Cal’s moods.

She slips her arm around Cal’s waist and he leans into her side. The sky has slowly turned pink and purple. Sunset here is lovely. The landing pad is quiet, and as far as she can tell they are the only two people around.

Merrin has not anticipated that she would fall in love with this life. Every load of food or fuel or medical supplies they run under the Empire’s nose is a victory. Every victory feels like a way to honor the memory of her dead sisters. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Cal says. She blinks. She knows some Jedi can read minds, but Cal has never said that this is one of his abilities. 

“Really?” 

He grins at her, and she realizes he is teasing.

“No.”

“Do you think there are others like us?” she asks.

“Jedi and Nightsisters running around together? I’d guess not a huge number, no,” Cal says. She gives him a look.

“People who choose to stand up to the Empire.”

“I want to think there are,” he says. “I know some of them.”

“It’s nice to have purpose,” she says. He’s looking out at the setting suns.

“Yeah. Better than hiding out, waiting to get caught.”

And better than spending her life alone and bitter at the betrayal of her sisters, thinking only of revenge. Her years alone on Dathomir had been joyless, as much as she had fought to give them meaning. Her life now feels so different.

“Are we ‘running around together?’” she asks him, unfamiliar with the expression. He looks at her, caught off-guard.

“Uh...hm,” he stammers, a hot blush creeping up his neck. She feels him take a deep breath. He reaches between them and takes her hand, lacing their fingers. She feels the calluses on his palm and his knuckles are smudged with grease. He catches her gaze and holds it. “Yeah. I think we are.”

There is a question in his eyes.

Merrin leans close and kisses him, and he is as sweet and eager as he was the night on Nar Shaddaa. He lies down when she tells him to and she straddles his narrow waist. The _Mantis’_ hull is sun-warm under her knees and elbows, and Cal’s hand is warm and rough and perfect when he slides it under her shirt. 

She did not intend to fall in love with this life, and here she was, all the same.

Canto Bight is one of the worst places Cal has ever been. Cere has put the _Mantis’_ crew up in an opulent hotel while their latest haul is unloaded. He feels too shabby in his worn work clothes to even be in here, and takes secret pleasure in scrubbing his dirty boots on the fine carpet.

His room has a picture window that overlooks the man-made sea, and Cal thinks it’s fitting that a planet so artificial has a fake ocean to go with it. He wonders if the sea was made by Imperial slaves, funded by Imperial weapons contracts, or both. 

Cal has to admit that his room is nice. A huge bed takes up one wall, made up with tasteful deep gray bedding. Cal can’t wait to strip out of his clothes and sprawl in it. He hasn’t slept in a real bed since he left Bracca, and his quarters there were utilitarian.

The bathroom makes the _Mantis’_ ‘fresher feel like a tiny closet. It has a soaking tub big enough for four people. Cal looks up and sees that the ceiling is privacy glass, cleverly engineered to let whoever is using the tub take in the stunning night sky. He can’t remember the last time he took a real, hot bath instead of a hurried navy shower.

He opens both taps and lets the tub fill. The bathroom is stocked with a variety of soaps and oils, and Cal sniffs a few before dumping some into the bath. Deep, woodsy scents waft up in the steam. 

BD-1 asks what he is doing.

“It’s like an oil bath, but for people,” Cal explains. BD jumps off of his shoulder onto the edge of the tub. He scans the water and Cal shakes his head. “It’s not that interesting, buddy.”

Cal unfastens his jacket and shucks it, then pulls his shirt over his head. He unbuckles his boots and kicks them off, then slides his pants down over his hips. BD-1 beeps at him as he eases himself into the tub.

“I’m going to be here a while,” he says, determined to enjoy his bath. BD-1 beeps an affirmative and goes out to the main bedroom. Cal sinks down into the tub, letting the hot water soak into sore muscles. The tub is big enough that he can stretch out to his full height and curl his toes around the opposite rim. 

He tips his head back and looks up at the sky. The light pollution hides most of the stars. His thoughts drift, and he wonders what his friends are doing in their fancy rooms. He’s barely settled in when the door chimes. 

“BD, what is it?” he calls, irritated at the disturbance. He’s not getting out of the nicest bath he’s had in more than eighteen years for anything short of disaster.

“Cal?” Merrin calls down the short hallway. “Are you in here?” She doesn’t sound worried, and Cal hopes whatever problem has come up can be solved from the bathtub. Panic flares in his chest when he realizes he hasn’t grabbed a towel. She walks into the bathroom before he can do anything about it, BD-1 at her heels and looking pleased with himself.

“Hi,” Cal says, sitting up a little in the tub. He is acutely aware that he has nothing but a film of bubbles for modesty. He looks at BD-1.

“Did you bring the rest of the crew?” he asks, his tone dry. BD-1 pirouettes on one foot and walks out, making a sound that reminds Cal strongly of giggles.

“Only me,” Merrin says. “I will go get Greez, if you like. He probably gives good baths, with the extra arms and all.” Cal considers this.

“Sounds interesting but I’ll pass. Is everything okay?” He’s still expecting some kind of crisis that will result in a quick exit from Canto Bight. 

“Am I interrupting?” she asks, but makes no movement toward the door. 

“Well I wasn’t really doing anything,” Cal says. He notices that her eyes haven’t left him, and he feels the weight of her gaze on him as she looks over the tub. His bath suddenly feels too hot.

“I will come back later,” she says. She turns to leave, and Cal realizes that’s the last thing he wants.

“Wait,” he says. She looks over her shoulder. “Wanna come in?” The words leave his mouth before he can think about them. The invitation hangs between them and Cal’s heart starts to race. Merrin looks like she’s deciding something.

“Close your eyes,” she says at last. Cal can’t help his grin. He pulls his knees up to make room for her and closes his eyes. His own heartbeat is loud in his ears, and he hears the soft rustle of clothing being removed. Displaced bathwater sloshes against his chest.

“Okay,” she says. When he opens his eyes she sits across from him, shoulder deep in the water. He’s fascinated by her pale shoulders and the clean lines of her collarbones, unmarked by freckles or scars. He badly wants to see the rest of her.

“How’s the water?” he asks. She scoops up a handful of suds.

“I have not had a real bath since Dathomir,” she says, letting the bubbles dissolve in the water. “It’s nice.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a bath,” Cal says. She gives him a curious look. “No one takes baths on a starship, and the dorms on Bracca only have showers,” he explains.

“I see. On Dathomir, we bathed in the hot springs.”

“That sounds nice,” Cal says. 

“It was. There was always someone to wash your hair. Have you ever taken a bath with anyone?” Merrin asks him. Cal rests his chin on his knees and looks at her. She seems relaxed, her arms resting on the sides of the tub. He leans back and sinks lower in the water.

“Prauf and I got decontaminated together once after a coolant leak on Bracca,” he says. “Does that count?” The memory of the ice-cold decontamination shower makes him shiver despite the heat of the bath. His skin had been raw for a week, and he’d learned a lot more about Abednedo anatomy than he ever wanted to know.

She laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “It does not.”

“Oh,” Cal says. “I guess just with you, then.” He’s glad the hot water hides his flush. 

“Well, Cal Kestis,” Merrin says, sliding towards him in the tub. “I’m honored.” 

Cal holds out his hand and she takes it. He pulls her into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She rests her hands on his shoulders and looks him over. Cal sits still, letting her look. He keeps his own hands on the edges of the tub. 

“You have a lot of freckles,” she says at last. 

“Uh… yeah. Comes with the hair,” he says. Merrin runs her fingers down his left pectoral, stopping just shy of the pink scar across his ribs. It’s still tender, even months later. Her touch wakes every nerve, especially when she rubs her thumb across his nipple. Cal pulls a deep breath in through his nose.

“I like them,” she says, her eyes warm.

“Glad you approve,” he says. He reaches out to brush a lock of wet hair back from her face. He wants to see her, too. “May I?” he asks. She nods. Her long hair falls over her chest and trails in the water, turning deep silver where it’s wet. Cal gathers it at the nape of her neck in both hands and sweeps it behind her shoulders. It’s heavy in his hands, and clings to his fingers like wet silk.

She is so lovely, and for a few long moments Cal can only look. Her skin is unmarked across her chest and shoulders. Her tattoos extend to her elbows: interlocking circles and spirals. He traces the delicate, dark lines with his index finger and watches goosebumps rise along her arm. 

“What are these?” he asks, kissing the inside of her wrist. 

“Markings of my clan. My mother and sisters gave them to me, when I earned them.” 

“What did you have to do to earn them?” Cal asks. He is intrigued by the Nightsisters’ magick and how it might relate to his own understanding of the Force.

“We do not share our rituals with outsiders.” Her voice is serious, but she is betrayed by the twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Cal laughs. “Keep your secrets then, Nightsister.”

Merrin takes his right hand in hers and turns his wrist over. She examines his tattoo.

“Is this a mark of your clan?” 

“It’s a guild tattoo, from Bracca.” Merrin runs her fingers over it and Cal fights the urge to squirm at the ticklish spot. “Rigger’s union, and my ID number.”

“So that your guild knows you belong to them?” she asks.

“So that it was easier to identify me if I didn’t make it back home in one piece.” Merrin blinks at him.

“Did that happen often, to your riggers?”

“Often enough.”

“I see why you were not afraid on Dathomir,” she says. Cal rests his hands on her hips and she shifts closer, her breasts brushing his chest. 

“I was afraid on Dathomir,” he says. She kisses him and pulls back.

“Were you afraid of me?”

“Yes,” he says. When he had first met her he had been terrified to witness magick he did not understand, that had only been whispered about for years. She looks down between them and Cal is aware of how close they are. Such intimacy is all new to him, so different from his few rushed encounters on Bracca. Merrin takes his hand and lays it on her breast, and Cal feels her nipple tighten under his palm. 

“Even now?” she asks. Her chest rises and falls under his hand. He feels suddenly shaky, all nerves. 

“I know what you can do,” he says. She cocks her head to the side, raising one dark brow.

“And I also know what you can do,” she replies. Cal is grateful that there is no hint of suspicion in her voice, only trust.

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself tight to his front. He tips his chin up to kiss her. Merrin runs her fingers through his hair, gasping softly as he presses his open mouth to her neck, sucking at her fine skin. He moves lower, kisses one nipple and then the other. She rocks against him underwater.

“Oh,” he breathes. Arousal is heavy in his stomach but he wants to draw this out, do it right. She kisses his chest and neck, sucking at the junction of his shoulder. He touches her with long, slow strokes, up and down her sides, over her breasts and flat stomach.

“Jedi aren’t supposed to form attachments,” he tells her between kisses. 

“The Jedi order is gone,” she says. 

Cal drops his hands to her knees, slick under the water. She shivers when he runs his thumb firmly up the inside of her thigh, massaging the tense muscle. The point of decision is rapidly approaching, and the bath is getting cold.

“Are you staying here tonight?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. Anticipation pools deep in Cal’s stomach. 

“Okay.”

Cal wakes up sprawled in the huge bed. He’s so comfortable that he briefly wonders if he’ll ever be able to sleep in his cramped bunk again. 

BD-1 is beeping at him, and he flips the quilt back, trying to find the droid. Sunlight streams in through the window. It’s warm on his bare chest but too bright. He immediately misses the dark cocoon of his covers. He flings an arm over his eyes, awake but not ready to get up. 

Beside him, Merrin is still asleep, curled up on her side. She looks peaceful and he doesn't want to disturb her. He loves that she's here and he's so glad she stayed. He rubs his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. He sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. BD-1 looks up at him from the floor and beeps. Cal puts a finger to his lips.

“Shh, buddy. Let Merrin sleep.” He pulls the quilt up to cover her pale, bare shoulder. BD-1 makes a quiet beep that is definitely congratulatory and Cal rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah.” He picks up the little droid. “Let’s keep this between us, okay?”

BD-1 beeps cheerfully.

“Good. Now, let’s see if we can find some breakfast.”

Later on the _Mantis_ , after some experimenting, Cal confirms that his bunk does indeed hold two people.


End file.
